


Happy Birthday, Noct!

by taketheblanket



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, Happy Birthday, brotherhood era, friendship fic, three gifts and a party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 15:57:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11947635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taketheblanket/pseuds/taketheblanket
Summary: Three presents and a party





	Happy Birthday, Noct!

“What number ya at?” 

“Thirty-five,” Noctis grinds out, taking the moment to pause at the top of his plank. His arms are shaking and he readjusts his hands in the dirt, tries to lean into the burning in his core. Gladio had come up with the twisted idea to make Noctis do push-ups face down on the sloping riverbank. His feet elevated above his head, every rep is worse than the one before. 

“Only fifteen left,” Gladio says. “Count out loud.” 

Noctis groans. 

“Thirty-six,” he manages, lowering himself to the ground before pushing himself back up. The dirt is damp beneath his fingers, soaked through with sweet water from the river and the smell of it does nothing but tease Noctis. Sweat drips down his neck. “Thirty-seven.” 

Gladio’s boots disappear from view and Noctis listens to him as he walks back towards the campsite. Noctis hovers in his plank, falsely calling out, “thirty-eight!” and “thirty-nine!” over his shoulder. When Gladio’s boots scrape the rock behind him he drops his chest again. 

“Forty.” 

“Almost there, Highness.” 

“I should--” Noctis grumbles, peering out at the water in front of him before doing another push-up, “be fishing.” 

“Forty-one,” Gladio counts for him. 

“I _thought--_ ” he says, “you were taking me camping for my birthday.” 

“I am!” Gladio says, “Forty-two.” 

“This is,” Noctis breathes, “a punishment.” 

“Forty-three. Is not.” 

“I shouldn’t have to-- work out-- on my birthday,” Noctis says, dropping onto his elbows and leaning his forehead in the dirt. Gladio kicks him lightly in the ribs with the toe of his boot and Noctis jumps back to his hands. All he wants to do is fucking fish but Gladio wasn’t going to shut up and let him do so in peace until he follows through. 

“Forty-four,” he says. “Your birthday isn’t until Tuesday and every year I tell you the same thing. If you wanna be strong, you gotta work out everyday, including your birthday.” 

“Hate you-- Gladio.” 

“Forty-five.” 

“Should fire you--”

“Forty-six.” 

“--find a new Shield.” 

“Forty-seven. You wouldn’t be able to find anyone. No one else can tolerate you, brat.” 

Noctis growls, his arms quaking beneath him. 

“Forty-eight. If you can talk this much, maybe I should make you do fifty more.”

“Fuck you,” he pants heavily. 

“Forty-nine.” 

“Fuck. You.” 

“Fifty.” 

Noctis collapses in the damp dirt, rolling onto his side and curling in on himself, his abdomen still screaming in pain even after completing the set. Gladio chuckles from six and a half feet above him and Noctis cracks one eye to glare up at him. Gladio is grinning. 

“You gotta do fifty more of those tomorrow, but other than that you’re off the hook this weekend, birthday boy.” 

“Don’t appreciate the fishing metaphor right now,” Noctis says. 

“You will,” he answers cryptically, and Noctis makes a questioning face. 

Without clarifying, Gladio offers him his hand and still feeling drained from the workout, Noctis takes it, lest he fall asleep on the riverbed. Seemingly without any effort, Gladio hauls him one-handed to his feet. He reels away from his strength, always a reminder that there’s work to do. With irritation he wriggles his hand out of Gladio’s and turns back to camp, still catching his breath. 

Noctis makes it five broody steps watching his shoes before he lifts his eyes and stops dead in his tracks. 

There’s a picnic table beside the tent. Unoccupied when he had gone down to the river to investigate, Gladio has since unpacked their belongings on the surface and in the center of the table, a shiny black rod and tackle box he has never seen before, both emblazoned with gold script and the initials _N.L.C._ Noctis stares at them dumbly for several moments, before approaching the table and taking the new rod in his hand. It's at least a few feet longer than the rod he's been using the last few years and although it feels heavy in his weakened arms, he likes the weight.

“What,” he says. 

“Happy birthday, asshole.” 

He turns around and faces Gladio, who looks unfairly satisfied with himself. Noctis rolls his eyes and reaches for the tackle box. He runs his hands over the smooth lacquer. It’ll look better when it’s a little dinged up, but it’s larger than his current kit and he likes the color. He pops the latch and the lid opens, revealing several new hooks, lures and wheels of line inside. 

“Shit, Gladio.” 

“You’ve gotten pretty good,” he says. “Gonna be even better when you stop using that kid’s rod.”

Noctis selects a lure and sits down on the edge of the table to change the line. 

“That little rod served me well,” he defends. 

“You're gonna eighteen, Noct. Big boys need big rods.” 

“Wow, please stop talking,” he says. 

“I will,” Gladio smiles, patting the novel that sticks half out of the pocket of his pants. “Go catch us some dinner.” 

He jumps to his feet, new rod slung over his shoulder and tackle box swinging from his free hand. Noctis bites back a grin as they walk to the water’s edge. Gladio sits down on a fallen tree behind him, opening his book but laying it over his thigh while he watches Noctis fiddle with his new toy. 

“My arms feel like spaghetti,” he complains. “I’m not gonna be able to _reel in_ dinner.” 

“Just say the word,” Gladio tells him. It wouldn't be the first time his Shield jumped into a body of water to retrieve one of his catches. 

He casts. 

“Oh _fuck_ yes,” Noctis cries, laughing gleefully as the hook zips through the sky. The lure hits the water with a satisfying plunk and sinks. Noctis spins the reel a few times, listens to it hum. Instead of watching the surface of the water carefully while he waits for a bite, he stares down at the gift. 

“Handles _really_ nice,” he says after several minutes of silence, glancing at where Gladio sits buried in his novel. He looks out at the river when he adds, “Thank you.” 

“Welcome, Noct,” comes the gruff voice from behind him and Noctis doesn't have to turn around to see the smug smile on his Shield’s face, he can _hear_ it.

Noctis gasps when something grabs the hook. 

-

Walking home after summer classes, Noctis and Prompto slow to a mosey in front of the comic book store. They are studying the week’s new posters hung on the outside of the windows when suddenly Prompto puts his hand on Noctis’ shoulder and stops him. 

“Hey, uhh..,” he begins. “Wait out here! Okay? Just for a second. I need to… just hang on!” 

Before Noctis can react, Prompto disappears inside of the store. He lurches to follow him and then freezes. Why did he tell him to wait outside? He peers through the window, but dark tint obscures his view. He pulls out his phone and waits. 

A few minutes later, Prompto emerges from the comic book, clutching a plastic bag to his chest, his eyes red and glassy like he may cry. 

“Prom..?” Noctis starts, feeling alarmed. “What’s going on?”

“Hey… Noct, look, I gotta confess something. You know that issue of _Luminous Raja_ you lent me?” 

Noctis’ stomach churns, immediately recognizing the situation. 

“Yeah,” he says slowly. “It was… the first edition.”

“I know!” Prompto “I’m sorry! I was reading it while I was eating dinner and I spilled soda on it. I’m sorry, Noct.”

Noctis chews on his tongue to keep himself from grinding his teeth. He stares back at Prompto, angry about the comic and deeply frustrated by the sight of his friend’s distress. 

“Are you mad?” he whimpers. 

“Yeah,” he grunts. “I’m… upset.” 

“I’m sorry,” he cries, and now there are tears spilling over his freckled cheeks. 

“Stop crying, Prom,” Noct says, reaching for him to pull his friend into a reluctant hug, desperate to make him stop. Half way into his arms Prompto pulls away from him. 

“Hey wait! I replaced it, I replaced it!” he says. 

Noctis doubts it’s possible, and so he regards Prompto warily as his friend shoves the plastic bag toward him hopefully. He shakes his head and does not take it. 

“They don’t print the first edition anymore,” Noctis says. “Not with the nice art.” 

Noctis stares back at him dizzily. Prompto is still crying and he hates it, so he swallows the bile in his throat and reaches for the plastic bag. He braces himself before reaching in and lifting the graphic novel in its plastic sleeve. 

He stares down at it. _The Luminous Raja. First edition. Art by Tak Sinclair._ In confusion, his eyes automatically skim the edge of the book, immediately locating the familiar notch bent into the bottom left corner. 

“This is… my copy.” 

“Yeah, it is,” Prompto says, laughing and grinning.

“What the fuck was this all about?” Noctis says. 

“Look what’s behind it.” 

“You think you’re an actor now or something?” Noctis asks, sliding the book from the plastic sleeve. 

Prompto doesn’t answer. Behind his copy of _Raja_ , there is another comic book. 

_Raja Awakes. Jori Hampt. Tak Sinclair._

Noctis stares down at it dumbly. He’s unfairly familiar with the art of the cover, the name of the author and artist, having coveted the title for years. His fingers shake when he removes it from the sleeve and turns the cover over to stare down at the title page in disbelief. 

“I can’t believe I’m holding this,” Noctis says.

In Noctis’ opinion, _Raja Awakes_ is the _true_ beginning of the series. Not his origin story as hero, but the story of his life before. Who he really was, before everything went to shit. 

“I’ve wanted this for years.”

“I know, dude! I listen when you talk!” 

“How did you…?”

“I special ordered it months ago. It only just arrived last week, and thank god it did.” 

“Special ordered?” Noctis asks, glancing back at the comic book store. 

“Yeah, buddy! I asked Karl! He knew the exact one but he said it might take a little time to find it. But he found it!”

“You just asked him,” Noctis says flatly, staring down at the book in his hands. 

“It’s amazing what you can learn when you talk to people!” Prompto says, nudging Noct with his elbow. “Happy Birthday, buddy! Can I have that hug now?” 

Noctis opens his arms and lets Prompto embrace him. He pats him on the back and stares down at the comic book. 

“Thanks, Prom.” 

“Come on,” he says when Prompto pulls away. He takes off down the sidewalk. Prompto skips after him, wiping his cheeks as they go. 

“Where’d you learn to cry like that?” Noctis asks him.“We gotta use that.” 

They buy boba teas and crowd together under the shade of the building to read. He leans against the wall to make himself shorter so his friend see over his shoulder. Noctis reads aloud and Prompto gasps in all the right places. 

-

Noctis rides the elevator to the top floor, watching the the floors pass as white illuminated rounds. He punches a few floors beneath his to slow the journey. 

Ignis had texted him in the formal tone he uses when he’s an Advisor, saying they needed to have a conference _tonight_. Noctis had to leave Prompto at the dessert shop, bitching that it was Noctis’ birthday and he shouldn’t have to work, but it’s not his birthday, not until tomorrow, and there was little he could do to dissuade Ignis when he felt like there was something both _political_ and _urgent_ that needed discussing. 

When he reaches the top floor, Noctis lingers in the hallway for several minutes, scrolling his phone and dragging his feet while he moves towards the only door to the penthouse apartment. When he finally pushes it open, Ignis calls from the kitchen. 

“You’re late.” 

Noctis rolls his eyes. 

He sets his bag and the comics down on the counter top. Ignis has already laid manilla folders out in front of two seats on his dining room table and sighing, Noctis takes his place. Ignis is still in the kitchen. He’s cooking, and the tantalizing smell wafts throughout the apartment. 

Noctis mechanically flips open the folder and inside there is only a sheet of blank white paper. He stares down at it dumbly, unable to register the information. Suddenly, another savory wave of something slips into the dining room and Noctis looks over at Ignis in the kitchen, just the top of his head visible from where he squats in front of the oven. 

“What are you cooking?” Noctis demands. 

Ignis does not answer, but a moment later he stands, a large pepperoni pizza propped on one hand. Noctis’ eyes go wide as he carries the pie to the table and sets it down. 

“Allow it to cool.”

Noctis’ mouth waters as he eyes the pizza. Ignis never indulges him in this kind of food, even though he’s good at making it. 

He removes the dummy folder from Noctis’ seat and replaces it with a wrapped gift box. 

“So that was all for show?” 

Ignis smiles to himself. 

“You should have seen the dejected look on your face.” 

“Why does _everyone_ want to fuck with me?” Noctis asks, reaching for the gift box in front of him and untying the ribbon. 

“Eighteen is a milestone, Noct,” is his answer. 

Noctis lifts the lid of the box to reveal a matte black watch, the face plated in golden, the hands in shimmering white stone. 

“Wow.” 

He can feel Ignis’ eyes skipping across his face. 

“Thanks, Ignis,” he says, slipping the watch from the box and sliding it onto his wrist. “This is really sharp.” 

They both look down at the watch then, appreciating the way the plated metal looks against Noct’s skin. 

“Did you get me a watch so I’d stop being late?” 

“Precisely.” 

Noctis scoffs light-heartedly, reaching for a piece of pizza. 

“Wait, Your Highness,” Ignis says, stopping him with his hand. 

“What now?” he asks. 

Ignis checks his own watch, and audibly sighs. 

“I suppose we should proceed without him,” Ignis says. 

“Who?” Noctis asks. 

Suddenly, an explosion in the kitchen. Noctis spins in his seat as Prompto rockets up from beneath the counter with party poppers in his hands. 

**“SURPRISE!”**

Noctis pants, momentarily bewildered. He had _left_ Prompto at the dessert shop and seeing him appear suddenly in the kitchen stuns him. He must have walked right past him sitting on the kitchen floor and had not noticed. 

“How did you get here before me?” Noctis asks. 

“I ran!” Prompto says cheerily. 

“He beat you by a good twenty minutes,” Ignis says, placing a single tap on the face of Noctis’ new watch. 

“Where’s Gladio?” Noctis asks, now understanding. At least he could trust Gladio to be late too. 

“Surprise!” comes his booming voice as he shoulders open the door to the apartment, arms laden with clinking bottles. “Sorry I’m late, Iggy.” 

Noctis and Prompto grab slices of pizza and sit down at the table to continue their conversation about comics. 

“Is that _alcohol?_ ” Ignis asks. 

“It’s a birthday party!” Gladio says, unloading several icy six packs of beer into Noct’s fridge. 

“An eighteenth birthday party,” Ignis clarifies. “Need I remind you that Prompto is still a minor.” 

Gladio looks Ignis up and down for a moment where the Advisor stands disapprovingly at his side. 

“We’re not going anywhere. Relax a little, would ya?” he says, pulling a bottle of red wine out of the bag. “I got you something too.” 

Ignis makes a tight sound through his nose but does not protest as Gladio pours him a glass of wine. He leaves Ignis in the kitchen with his baking and takes two cold beers to Noctis and Prompto at the dining room table. Leaning between both of their heads he whispers to them, “pretend like it’s the first time.” 

The pizza is amazing. Noctis licks his fingers and Ignis doesn’t even mind. Gladio brought enough booze to get them well tanked and Prompto unfurls a board game on the table to assist in the process. The four men surround him at the table. None of them have played this game before, and they end up sucking down their drinks faster than expected, tripping up on rules they don’t yet understand. Noctis is losing miserably.

“You’re supposed to let me win!” Noctis complains. 

“What would that teach ya?” Gladio asks. 

“I have to agree,” Ignis says, though he’s in third place himself, several glasses of wine coloring his cheeks pink and his lips red. He leans on his elbows, staring down at the board game with disbelieving disdain. 

“Sore losers!” Prompto giggles, punching Gladio in the arm. Gladio responds with a poorly weighted shove that sends Prompto flying from his chair and onto the hardwood floor. 

They laugh until they cannot breathe. 

Ignis brings Noctis an indulgent chocolate cake, eighteen candles around the rim, a nineteenth in the center, for good luck. 

“Don’t sing.”

They sing. Noctis sneers at them from where he sits slumped in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. 

His friends are jerks, but it’s his birthday, and he is happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Noct! 
> 
> I'm on twitter @taketheblanket 
> 
> Thanks for reading! ^^


End file.
